


After the Bonfire

by notjustmom



Series: What if... [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, The boys talk, after the bonfire, possible missing scene, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-05 22:55:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16376597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: Written as a response to a prompt/ask I received on tumblr, 'the scene when John goes to Baker Street after the bonfire to treat Sherlock's hands.'





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock groaned as he heard the bang of the front door closing, then John making his way up the stairs, no limp, just exhausted, but there was something else. Tea. He's going to want tea, was there milk? He couldn't quite remember. He slowly got up from the couch then looked down at his hands, blistering already. Tea. Right. 

He flinched at the footfalls behind him, and tried to remember to breathe. Home, you are home, London, the flat, you're at Baker Street. It's just John. John. He froze and turned to face him, taking in the scratches from the bonfire, the thick scent of pine and smoke.

"You should be in hospital, John, or at least with Mary." He studied John's face, so different from two years ago, yet, still very much the same. "Why are you here, John?"

"You took off before I could, hmm, thank you, and before anyone looked you over. I'm assuming you haven't -" He looked down at Sherlock's hands balled into fists by his sides, and shook his head. "Hell. I didn't think. I should have knocked, or texted. I'm sorry. Just, let me take a look, hmm, I'll put on the kettle." He glanced up into Sherlock's eyes and nodded. "Here, sit at the table, yeah? The light is better in here, closer to the sink. I'm guessing Mrs. Hudson has made sure you have plenty of biscuits." John moved into the kitchen, switched on the kettle, and opened the cupboards, taking out the tin of tea, and the packet of biscuits, as if he had never left, as if Sherlock had never left.

"John." Sherlock's voice sounded small to his own ears and he cringed thinking how he must seem to John now.

"Please. Let me. I think the First Aid kit is still in the bathroom, I'll be just a minute, please, sit?" Sherlock watched him leave the kitchen, his stride was full doctor mode, he was here just to ease his guilt that was all, or Mary - maybe Mary nudged him to - Mary. Hell. If Mary hadn't come over - John would be... he found himself sitting in the kitchen, John holding his right hand in his left and making that tsking sound he always had when Sherlock had done something idiotic.

"I'm sorry," John mumbled out as he carefully helped Sherlock to the sink and ran the cold water over his hands for a minute, then led him back to his chair and gently patted them dry.

"I think that should be my line," Sherlock muttered in response, he was keeping his eyes focused on John's hands, afraid to see whatever it was that John was thinking or worse, feeling at the moment.

"I reacted badly."

"Understandably."

"Sherlock." He returned his focus to Sherlock's hands, taking his right hand again, he began to unbutton the cuff.

"John." Sherlock tried to pull away, but the look in John's eyes stopped him. "Don't."

"What did they do to you?" John whispered brokenly as he held on to Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock shook his head. "Don't ask me to tell you. I can't. It doesn't matter. It's done."

John nodded, then carefully used a flannel to wash Sherlock's hands, and laid a cold compress on them. Sherlock cleared his throat as he heard the kettle whistle, "kettle."

"Right, just sit there? Yeah?"

Sherlock nodded and watched as John turned away to make the tea. He could tell from John's shoulders the he was screwing himself up to say something that was hard for him to say and he closed his eyes and waited. "I missed you. I missed us. I missed how I was with you, and when you showed up like that - I don't really have an excuse - not a good enough one, there's never a good enough excuse to do what I did to you when you came back. Then tonight, you broke every traffic law and nearly - you saved me again, Sherlock. You still take two sugars?"

Sherlock nodded, then remembered that John couldn't see him. "Yes. Please."

John chuckled under his breath. "I remember - god, the last time you said please -" He turned and placed a mug of tea in front of Sherlock and rolled his eyes. "Fat lot of good tea is going to do you, hmm?" He picked up the mug again and held it to Sherlock's lips. He watched as Sherlock blew on it and took a sip.

"Thank you, John."

John put the mug down and nodded, then sat down across from him. "Can you tell me why?"

"I told you -"

"No. I know you, knew you. You had to have a good reason, to do -"

"You weren't meant to be there, John. I had sent you away, just in case, I didn't mean for you to see - I nearly - I nearly beat him, John, and then he told me that there were snipers on Lestrade, on Mrs. Hudson and on you, if I hadn't jumped -"

"God. Sherlock." John pinched his nose and began to stand up.

"John. It was my fault. I should have realised. I never wanted to leave you, but it was the only way -"

"You could have -"

"It was better -"

"Better?"

"There was no guarantee I would make it back, and I wanted you to -"

"I would have waited. If I had known."

"John. What kind of life could I have offered you? The life we had before? You - always made it perfectly clear that you, that I - that we were - what, colleagues? You always wanted a wife, a family -"

"You - you were 'married to The bloody Work', what else was I supposed to think? You barely tolerate most human beings, I thought... I don't honestly know what I thought, but after Angelo's, I resigned myself to being your friend, Sherlock. Didn't you know, if you had asked me, I would have gone anywhere with you." He sighed as he removed the compresses, then gingerly dotted antibiotic cream over the burns. "Anywhere."

"I couldn't risk losing you, John. I didn't know. They would have - I couldn't let anything happen to you."

John blinked at Sherlock's hand in his, then shook his head. "I'm not, I wasn't - worth -"

"You are, you were, always worth it, John."

"Sherlock. You are staying. I mean, you won't disappear, or die again on me, at least not - bloody hell. You won't leave me again?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, John. I won't leave you again, I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and... yes, even more of a divergence for DaringD xox

John slowly lifted Sherlock's hand to his lips and Sherlock tried to remember how to speak. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock shook his head again, completely at sea, unable to move or say a word.

"At first, when I looked up and saw you at the restaurant, I thought I was seeing a ghost. Those first few months after - I could still see you, hear you. It's why I left, found a new job, changed everything. I thought if I started over, it wouldn't hurt so much."

"John," Sherlock finally managed, then blinked at him, trying to make sense of what John was attempting to tell him.

"I had realised. Hell, I had known - the very first case, Sherlock, when you left with the cabbie, I went after you because I had fallen in love with you. And that kind of thing had never happened to me before. All I knew was that I had to make sure you were safe. No, I'm not gay, yes, I've had feelings for men before, but nothing - nothing like what I felt, feel for you."

"But -"

"Let me finish, yeah? I've been waiting for nearly - four years to tell you this, and I'm not sure -"

Sherlock nodded.

"I should have told you after the pool, but I was afraid. Afraid it was just the adrenaline - the cases - whatever, I wasn't sure that you felt the same way, and I didn't want to lose you, the friendship we had, whatever it was, and then Irene - hell, it doesn't matter. I came here tonight, to tell you, to ask you -" John looked into Sherlock's eyes and swore. "I forgot how beautiful your eyes are, how did I forget? I broke up with Mary. I couldn't, can't - this is not how I wanted this to go. You always accused me of romanticising things, and I had it all planned out in my head, down to the commas..."

"Come home, John," Sherlock whispered.

John blinked at him and gently put his hand down on the kitchen table. "It can't be that simple, Sherlock."

"It can be, it is, John. The only thing that got me through the last two years was you, knowing you were safe. Unbutton the cuff. If you honestly want - if you are going to stay, if you want me - you have to know, have to see what I am now, I'm not who I was when I left. I know you think - no, actually I don't know, and I want to know -" He drew in a sharp breath as John swore as he undid the last button and rolled up his sleeve.

"Sherlock."

"There is no permanent damage -"

"When I took you to the floor -?" John closed his eyes and Sherlock felt his fingers tremble at his wrist. "I -"

"John. We both failed - I should have found a different way, I should have warned you, I was afraid to put you in danger until I knew Moriarty's network was gone, and it took me far too long. I have nightmares when I sleep - so I haven't slept since I've been home. I obviously can't play for a while, and I can't promise you cases for a while yet, I'm still a bit, well, technically -"

"Dead?" John snorted, then pressed a kiss against the pulse point in his wrist. "Red tape?"

"Mycroft is still sorting out the paper work." Sherlock tried to hold back a smile, but failed miserably, then laughed out loud as John began to chuckle. 

"Sorry. Not funny."

"I know, but it is..." Sherlock met John's eyes and they laughed until tears streamed down their faces. Sherlock finally caught his breath, and cleared his throat. "Will you, uhm, if it's too early, I understand, but, will you come to bed with me - just to sleep?"

John nodded, and helped Sherlock to his feet, then draped an arm gingerly around Sherlock's waist as he walked him to his bedroom. He settled him on the edge of the bed and asked him without words if he could undress him. "Please, John?"

Slowly, John unraveled the story of the last two years, written in the scars, and fresh bandages that covered his friend, and somehow managed not to fall to his knees, then laid him down on his side, and crawled into bed next to him. He shivered as Sherlock carefully shifted so he could rest his head on his good shoulder. "Thank you, John."

John placed a kiss to Sherlock's curls and whispered, "what for?"

"For coming home, John. For coming home to me."


End file.
